


This time

by Dark_K



Category: Merlin (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angsty Schmoop, Crossover, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Reincarnation, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_K/pseuds/Dark_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the weird thin dude with the flap ears shows up and tells them all he’s Merlin and they are supposed to be the reincarnated court of Camelot, Stiles thinks <i>Sure, why not?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	This time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diana_Prallon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/gifts).



> Ok, so, I've been rewatching Merlin, and I thought I'd be funny to have the pack as the reincarnated court of Camelot, and this was supposed to be funny, and then I angsted -- which, btw, could be the name of my biography.  
> So, I hope you guys enjoy it.  
> I had a lot of fun writing it for my first project for Camp NaNo.

**This time**

Arthur never comes back, and after more than a thousand years, it becomes a problem.

**X**

It’s not that _no one_ ever comes back: it’s just Arthur. All of the others, everyone else, they do come back every few decades — never more than two or three at the same time, though.

And never Arthur.

He thinks on it long and hard, and he believes he has some sort of theory: Arthur doesn’t come back because he needs to _come back_. Not to be born again, but just… come back. Just as the day he went away.

The others, though, the others have managed to return in every permutation imaginable (Gwen as a nurse, as a doctor, as a psychiatrist, sometimes as a man, sometimes as a woman. Gwaine showed up as a stripper more than once, and in every gender he possibly could, but more often than not he was just… very loud. Lancelot came back twice as a fireman, and he died in a fire, rescuing her husband once, when he came back as a woman. Leon had come back many times too, even became a President once, dying of old age, and that was a life Merlin liked to remember fondly). They have come back, and Merlin thinks — well, he _supposes_ they all have their own issues to work through before they are ready to be Arthur’s court again.

So he watches. Oh, he watches them all, hunting them down, even though it’s easier than it sounds — once one of them is spotted, the others are always around, just never _all_ of them, or at least, not all of them until _now_.

He thinks he had seen all permutations imaginable, until he sees the latest one, does a quick head count, and his mind actually boggles.

Of all the times they’ve returned (Morgana, surprisingly, is the one who came back less. Or maybe not surprisingly — she had _serious_ issues, but they were all _valid_ issues, as Merlin pondered on as centuries went by surprisingly fast. The last time he had seen her, she had been an activist. He had seen her die protecting a young kid from being beaten to death, dying in his stead. The kid, Merlin suspects, was Mordred. The man who beat them, Merlin _knows_ , was Uther. He was tried and found guilty, and lived miserably in prison until his death. That was the last time he had seen her — until now) this is the one where _everyone_ seems to be present.

He isn’t sure who is who yet — it takes time, and sometimes he mistakes some people for others, because it’s been over a thousand years, and even though he is still the same, everyone else has changed greatly. They have become more _themselves_ than Camelot had allowed them to be, he thinks, whereas he is still pretty much the same, only… _older_ , and yet not.

But he knows the signs, he recognizes the people, their chemistry together, and he knows — he just _knows_ — it’s them.

It’s all of them.

And they can bring Arthur _back_ finally, after all this time.

He’s just surprised he’ll have to deal with a pack of werewolves, is all.

**X**

When the weird thin dude with the flap ears shows up and tells them all he’s Merlin and they are supposed to be the reincarnated court of Camelot, Stiles thinks _Sure, why not?_

He had seen some shit. Done the impossible. Died and come back, and survived a Japanese demon invasion as well as weird dude in suits trying to kill them all, plus a huge werewolf beast _and_ a Hellhound. _Clearly_ reincarnation of old myths had been just around the corner the whole time. Old news, really.

Except that when the guy tells them they are _all_ supposed to be a part of it, Stiles stars reconsidering his role in all of this _again_ , because… Well, he’s not Knight material. He can barely manage chopsticks without poking his own eyes out, let alone deal with a sword. He listens to the whole explanation, listens as the guy explains that maybe — _maybe_ — they can bring King Arthur back, and magic will be free again, and, as magical creatures that most of them _are_ , they could really use the help, you know?

So, cool. They are the court of Camelot, and Stiles is sure he’ll turn out to be maybe the third servant on the left, who died when the dragon (DRAGON!) attacked once.

He can live with that.

It’s cool.

 

**X**

The first one they figure out is, of course, Deaton. Healer, druid, magical, cryptic dude, of course he’s Gaius, and Merlin gives him a wide berth, something to do with him being one of the few who didn’t _improve_ with time — either that, or the guy doesn’t really like seeing his father figure playing father figure to someone else. Next was Agravaine, and Peter does fit the guy to a t, what with being the creepy, power hungry uncle, seeking power without recognizing his own brand of madness and insanity. A villain with no qualms about being one.

They recover their pasts one by one — it’s like… well, not _like_ , it _is_ magic: as soon as they find out who they are, they start to remember. Snippets, of course, not their whole lives, but the main parts of it, their motivations, and their feelings, and it changes them a bit, but not by much, because they are, after all, the final configuration of what they need to bring their King back.

It’s a sense of unity they had before, but amplified: they are not just a pack anymore, they are a cause, a belief, a dream waiting for over a thousand years to happen, and it brings them closer.

All the while, Stiles feels more and more left out — they find out Mason is Leon, and Parrish is Percival, and Lydia is Gwaine, and Scott is Lancelot, always alone, and always living for love.

For a couple of weeks, there’s a strong suspicion among them that Allison had been Gwen, but they can’t be sure, and it breaks Scott’s heart a little bit — Kira doesn’t belong to this, even though she’s pack, because she is of another story, another clan, another thousand years of history that isn’t really with them, even though she stays with them all: Lancelot does deserve to find love that is returned and constant and possible, for once, and if he has to step out of Camelot to do, then so be it.

Stiles sees that Merlin worries Allison _had_ been Gwen after all — if she were, then maybe they _aren’t_ the final configuration, if they managed to kill one of their own, such an important piece to their puzzle. At the same time, Stiles goes against what everyone thinks, because he has a feeling Allison hadn’t _been_ Gwen. If all of them mimic their lives in one way or another, if all of them do have their parts to play all over again, just slightly different, then Allison’s had been the death to bring about a new beginning — a much darker, much more somber life than they had before, but a beginning all the same. When he shares this thought with Merlin, the warlock actually smiles at him: it’s the first time Stiles sees him doing that in all the weeks they had been working together to figure themselves out.

“She was Ygraine,” he whispers, as if understanding something, and Stiles can only agree. Her impression shapes them all as Arthur’s mother had shaped Camelot, and it makes sense.

There are still so many pieces, vital pieces, missing, but Merlin seems certain he has them all around this time.

Stiles fears he isn’t a part of it at all.

**X**

Derek comes back into town, Cora trailing after him, all bad mood and snide remarks. He comes back because he feels as if he let his pack down, and he brings Cora because she’s family — Merlin takes one look at the girl, her contrary behavior, and her admittance that she wanted to be away from family for a while, but now wants to be back, and they all see she is Elyan. She remembers her past life bit by bit, and she desperately wants to know where is her sister, but they don’t know — missing pieces, an incomplete puzzle even though all the pieces are right there.

Merlin looks frustrated, but at the same time relieved — they are getting there, just not at the speed he wants them to.

He and Stiles talk sometimes, and enjoy each other’s company. The wizard knows the kid feels left out and alone the more they reveal their past selves, but Merlin is sure, absolutely sure, he is a part of them: if only they could find out _who_.

Stiles doesn’t want to feel discouraged, but it’s hard when he sees his whole pack getting closer and more friendly, more certain in their bonds, and he is left out.

**X**

The nightmares start the night Derek arrives.

He doesn’t tell anyone about them for a week, and then, as they are leaving the loft — where Derek has graciously allowed them to meet to sort themselves out — the ex-Alpha grabs his wrist lightly as he is leaving.

He stays, mostly because no one needs him to take them home, but also because, as loath as he is to admit it, he’s missed Derek and his non-talking ways.

“Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

He thinks about lying, thinks about telling him to mind his own business, he even considers telling him to fuck off, because people who leave for almost a year don’t get to look worried about their friends, but he doesn’t — he deflates in his half built anger, and looks down, sighing in defeat.

“I’ve been having nightmares.” He looks up, and sees how scared Derek looks all of a sudden, making him shake his head quickly, “Not like _that_ , not like _before_ , just… nightmares. Liam fighting someone, and something chasing us in school… maybe PTSD is catching up to me. I never used to dream much, and now I can’t close my eyes for ten minutes because I keep _seeing_ things,” he ends in a frustrated tone, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, as if rubbing away the images.

“Maybe it has something to do with _this_ clusterfuck,” Derek suggests, talking about Merlin and his resurrecting court, making Stiles chuckle quietly and shake his head.

“Nah. I’m no knight, dude. I’m probably no one.”

His tone is flippant, as if he doesn’t care, but his heart is squeezing in his chest, and he knows Derek sees right through it — even Cora, who had been with them for ten minutes, is a part of it, and Stiles isn’t. It’s killing him bit by bit. He knows it and now Derek knows it too.

“Better like this,” the man tells him with a shrug, “I wouldn’t want a recycled life anyway,” he finishes, and Stiles is, not for the first time, thankful for him.

“Thanks, man.”

Derek still looks as if he’s in physical pain for not being able to help, and Stiles starts to wonder how long they can stand there, staring at each other after that huge confession without it being weird.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? I know your dad has the night shift today.”

“Way to be a stalker, dude,” Stiles replies, but he’s relieved Derek finally spoke. The man rolls his eyes as he walks back into the kitchen, and Stiles eyes the closed door, but turns his back to it, following Derek.

“Parrish told me.”

“You’re friends with _Parrish_?”

He loses himself in the banter that comes after it, and they end up ordering food and watching _Thor_. Derek makes him tea, gives him a blanket and a pillow, and if he wakes up in the middle of the night because of his nightmares and the man is right there to tell him everything is okay — well, no one has to know.

**X**

The nightmares don’t go away, and Stiles starts to get scared when one of them comes true — he dreams his dad is shot and taken to the hospital with blood all over his uniform. He wakes up in a cold sweat, with a dying scream on his lips: not even an hour later he gets a call from Melissa, whose first words are “Don’t worry, he’s okay now.”

He isn’t really sure who to turn to, because Merlin and Scott are involved in the planning of finding the last few missing pieces of their court, and Stiles doesn’t want to burden them with weird dreams, so he goes to the only other member of their pack who _isn’t_ a resurrected version of a myth — he and Derek consider going to Deaton, but decide against it, and they hit the books trying to find a cause. It’s their own independent crusade, and it’s fine: at least now they don’t feel like they are outsiders when the others are busy hashing out old grudges from literally a thousand years ago.

Just because they got even weirder than they had always been, it doesn’t mean that they don’t get their garden variety of trouble as well: Fae show up at the preserve, probably attracted by all the magic Merlin has been using, and then it’s a whole thing — they can’t kill the Fae because they’ve done nothing wrong (also, because they are immortal, but they pretend that wouldn’t be a problem), but they can’t let them stay, because they’re dangerous, and also because werewolves are territorial.

They send Scott and Lydia to deal with them, and then they get screwed, because the Fae come after Merlin and Stiles, who were just trying to stay out of it — Merlin because he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s as powerful as he is (he also mutters something about Fae living forever, and him not being sure if they’d remember him), and Stiles because between the not sleeping and the nightmares and the constant worry that he may be going insane after all, he’d be no use.

They are in Stiles’s house, in the backyard, watching the tree line as if that would make their friends (and they are _their_ friends now, aren’t they? As much Stiles’s as they are Merlin’s — the man _has_ known them longer, which is a very strange thing to think about) come back sooner, when the first wave of nasty little buggers come screeching into the Sheriff’s backyard.

Out of instinct, Stiles pinches a tiny little bit of mountain ash that he still carries around, and throws it in the air, just… _believing_. It has to work, because it’s all defense they have right now — or at least all defense _he_ has, Merlin could probably snap his fingers and they’d all run away.

The little bit of ash becomes a full circle around them, and the first Fae hits the magic wall with a loud thud, making the whole thing beam with light blue and purple light.

“Yeah, take that, you little sucker!” Stiles screams in false bravado, all the while thinking, oh my god, please, let this hold up.

Merlin, however, reaches out a hand, very slowly, to touch the barrier, fingers hovering just above it, not making contact, and tilts his head to the side, as if considering what he is seeing in a whole new light.

“You have magic,” he whispers to Stiles, turning to look at him and completely disregarding the growing amount of little Fae people hitting their ugly little wrists against their defenses.

“I don’t _have_ magic,” Stiles tells him, shrugging a bit, “I have mountain ash. I bet anyone could do it,” he ends with a small shrug, even though no one has ever tried — if they do need the thing to work successfully, they always call on Stiles. He always thought it was because he’s pretty much the only pure human left in their little pack.

The look Merlin gives him makes him reconsider that now.

“Where did you get the dust?”

“Deaton gave it to me.”

“Did he tell you how this works?” Merlin sounds even more agitated now, and Stiles starts to feel uncomfortable under this scrutiny of his mountain ash bearing abilities.

“He told me to believe in it, dude. Now, can we talk about the little ugly monsters trying to swarm us out? I’m not sure I can hold this up forever.”

As soon as he starts doubting the wall, it starts to flicker, and his breathing gets faster in fear.

He really shouldn’t have worried, though, because Merlin gives him one last considering look, turns around to face the Fae and shouts.

Not like a human, and not in any language Stiles recognizes — this isn’t even the Old Gaelic stuff he’s seen Merlin use for spells, this is something else entirely — but the Fae stop, and they listen, and one of them, Stiles swears, _courtesies_ to both of them, before they fly out and away into the forest, like they are running away.

For a second, all the teen can do is stare — that had been _so easy_.

“What was _that_?” he asks, awe tinging his voice as he allows the barrier around them fall away — but not before he sees Merlin trying to cross it and stopping just short of its end, head tilted to the side again, as if he isn’t sure he _can_ cross it.

“It’s… Well,” Merlin turns to him, looking bashful for the first time since Stiles met him, and shrugs slightly, “It was a Dragon shout. Dragon Lord magic.”

“Dragon Lord magic?” he repeats, and Merlin only shrugs again.

Stiles shakes his head, missing the considering way Merlin keeps looking at him.

He’s now living in Tamriel it seems.

**X**

He still has dreams, the dreams still come true with alarming frequency— he tells Parrish about a robbery before it happens, and he warns Scott not to go to class the day a huge storm hits them. He tells Lydia not to wear her new shoes the day a wendigo shows up and they have to traipse through the forest to trap it, and he warns Cora not to run after the kid who keys her car because he’s a hunter, and if she shows herself to him, they’ll have an excuse to attack.

He helps. He doesn’t tell them he has had visions, he just… gives them advice. Mostly they just frown or shake their heads, but they go along with it, because it’s Stiles and he’s weird.

He knows he helps, but it scares the bejeezus out of him, because he is _having visions of the future._

Again, he and Derek consider going to Deaton, again they decide against it, because they don’t trust the man — the one time they do go looking for him, Merlin is in there, and the two of them seem to be in a big argument, with Merlin shouting, and Deaton _actually raising his voice_.

Stiles and Derek look at each other and run from there, because, well, you don’t want to be nearby if Deaton is truly showing any kind of emotion at all.

“Maybe we _should_ tell Merlin,” Derek suggests when they are back at his place, Stiles already lying face down on the couch, bemoaning his fate as an apparent seer.

“Why? So they can all think I’m just trying to fit in again? I know they think I’m acting weird because I’m not one of the _chosen ones_ or whatever, dude. I don’t need to give them more ammunition.”

He feels the couch sink in by his feet, but he doesn’t look up, not even when Derek talks.

“They are your pack, Stiles. They’ll want to help you. They were yours before Merlin ever showed up.”

He snorts, and turns his head a bit to stare at Derek, who looks concerned but centered — it’s a nice change from the guy who was always glaring, but it also makes Stiles feels very small, and very incompetent, because everyone around him seems to have their lives together, and he is the only one staying behind.

“No. They were _Merlin’s_ before they ever met me, before they even existed as my friends. You…” he stops and his eyes go wide with what he was going to say.

Derek waits it out, staring at him, waiting for him to finish.

When a whole minute goes by and he doesn’t talk again, the man raises an eyebrow at him.

“I what?”

Stiles takes a deep breath and shrugs as best as he can while still laying down.

“You are the only one who were mine before you were his,” he whispers quietly.

He swallows dry as they stare at each other because as much time as they have been spending together, this is still something _else_ , something _other_ than what they are used to — and it’s so scary, because Stiles isn’t sure _what_ this is.

It isn’t about Derek being there for him — not only that. It’s not _only_ about anything: it’s an amalgamation of so many things, so many feelings, and so many thoughts, and so many dangers. So many times they could have left the other one behind and didn’t, so many ways they could have hurt each other and hadn’t.

The one time one of them chose to go away, but then decided to _come back_.

“You were mine first too,” Derek ends up saying, very quietly, and very deliberately.

They don’t stare at each other, they don’t talk after that.

They sit.

Eventually, Derek turns on the TV, and Stiles falls asleep — with no dreams, for once.

The whole pack can have their court, and their wizard, and their king, and their Camelot — but now they know they have each other, and it’s kind of enough.

**X**

Stiles has dreams about Liam more than anyone else, and he never thinks twice about it, because it never seems to matter in the grand scheme of things — so he always knows when Liam is angry or sad, he knows when he gets lost and needs some help, and he’s around the kid a lot because, in his haste in feeling sorry for himself for not being a part of this new and improved, historically accurate pack thing, it takes him a while to realize that Liam doesn’t know who — or if — he is in that either.

It’s chance that makes them be together when the hunters attack them on their way out of the preserve after training, but it is, apparently, destiny, that has Merlin with them.

The first hunter turns to literal dust with a shout from the wizard, and Stiles would be scared of him, really, if he wasn’t more worried about Liam getting almost stabbed with what he is sure is a wolfsbane infused blade.

He doesn’t think twice and throws himself in front of the kid, something compelling him forward, and giving him just enough force in his leap that he knocks the hunter down.

The third one comes from behind, but Stiles turns on him, just _knowing_ he’s there — it’s as if a small little warning sign is on in his head now, as if something has been lifted, as if he has all of his senses working properly for the first time in his _life_ , and as he throws the hunter away with a wave of his hand ( _how is he doing this?_ ), as he sees that Liam is safe and sound, with Merlin hovering near him, as he hears Scott’s roar in the distance and knows they are all safe, as he is closing his eyes while darkness is starting to overtake him, he has one last thought.

There _was_ someone else missing apart from Gwen, wasn’t there?

Damn.

**X**

When he sleeps, he dreams, but he has no visions of the future — he has visions of the past.

Of being scared and alone. Of being lied to, time and again, by everyone he had ever trusted. By having his (her?) own father hate whatever he had been, having the man lie to him his whole life, and being hated by every single one of his friends.

Of being abandoned, and poisoned, and used, and deceived.

Of having no one to turn to — not even the boy raised beside him as his brother, not even the flap eared kid he had shown kindness to, had _risked his life for_ , more than once.

He dreams of it all, and he remembers.

He remembers the child he thought of as his own, and he remembers how much harm he had done in his rage.

He remembers being wrong, and he remembers the madness, and the killings.

He remembers dying — and then he wakes up.

**X**

“You killed me.”

He knows everyone in the room startles when he says that, and he opens his eyes slowly, zeroing in on Merlin like nothing else mattered — his eyes are burning in bright amber, but he doesn’t know that, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

“You killed me,” he repeats, sitting up, eyes never leaving the blue ones right in front of him, “You lied to me, deceived me, poisoned me, betrayed me. Took from me everyone and everything I’ve ever cared about. Hid from me all that made me myself, pretended not to know what I was going through, made me think I was going _mad_ — and then you _killed me_ for becoming the monster YOU CREATED,” he finishes in a scream of rage, getting up and coming closer to Merlin, who looks… defeated.

Stiles could quite possibly hit him, strangle him, do whatever he wanted, and he knows Merlin wouldn’t fight back — because he knows it’s all true.

“Stiles,” he hears Scott saying, and he turns in anger at him too — perfect Lancelot, dying before his time. He had used him and all his goodness against Merlin and Arthur so many times, getting him killed. How could he ever think Scott would want to be his friend now?

He looks around and he can’t quite focus his anger on Merlin anymore — he killed half the people in this room.

Liam is closest to him, looking scared, but also like he would go against his own alpha to defend Stiles, and his heart breaks at the sight — he had been responsible for his death too: but Merlin had been responsible for _him_ , so didn’t that mean the warlock was at fault for everything else?

He shakes his head, trying to think, trying to find his footing again, but it’s so _hard_.

“We knows it’s a lot, and this remembering thing sucks, but you have to calm down,” Scott tells him, and he turns to his best friend, and scoffs.

“Did he tell you?” he asks, and Scott shakes his head.

“He said we should wait for you, to be sure,” Scott answers, motioning towards Merlin, and Stiles smirks — mean and evil, because he _can._

Oh man, he spent so long trying to be the good guy when he had been the biggest villain all along.

“I got you killed,” he says, forcing himself not look away, because he _deserves_ the hatred he’ll receive, “I got you killed, and I brought you back, and I used you to bring me power.” He stops, turns to Lydia with a tired chuckle, “I tortured you, and I left you to die, and I felt no remorse.” Stiles turns to Liam, then, and for the first time he wants to cry, but he won’t — he doesn’t deserve tears, “I corrupted you. You could have been good, you could have been great, but we did it all wrong, and you died, because of me,” he pauses and turns to look at Merlin, eyes burning in anger again, “Because of us _.”_

Before he can say anything else, the door to his room opens, and he sees him: his father.

His poor, broken and barely mended father, still grieving for his wife after all these years, doing his very best to defend his people and his land, delusional that Stiles was always by his side, when he had lied to him for years.

He can’t bear it — not now, not alone, not with all of them staring at him, not when he can _see_ in his father’s eyes that _this_ is when he remembers, and so he leaves before anyone else can stop him — he leaves, and goes to his one safe haven, the one place where maybe he can find peace, because out of all of them, there’s someone he hasn’t managed to kill, or torture, or manipulate, or disappoint yet.

He goes to Derek.

**X**

“Who is he?” the Sheriff asks him, and Merlin has to fight back a hysterical chuckle, because right at that moment the Sheriff he has seen day in, day out sounds so much like his past life he can’t bear it — he half expects the man to shout _Sorcery!_ and burn them all at the stake.

“Your son,” he says, voice quiet and defeated, because of all his mistakes, of all the things he regrets, of all the many, many errors he’s realized he’s made in all these centuries he has had to think back on his life, this is the one he regrets the most. This is the one where he wishes he had never met Kilgharrah, had never listened to Gaius, had never listened to anything but his own instincts, “Your daughter,” he completes when it looks like the man will ask him again, “Morgana,” he finishes, a world of regret in his voice.

His biggest mistake, his biggest regret, the one thing that maybe _he_ had to figure out so they could bring their King back.

The silence is deafening in the room, and Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, not wishing to see the faces around, his old friends in these new faces, so young and yet so broken.

He doesn’t want to see them suffer, to see them turn away from Stiles, because they have to be together, they have to fight together, so they can bring about Albion.

How is he going to convince these people, all these people Morgana killed, and tortured, and deceived, and made suffer, that they have to unite?

“So what?”

He looks up, startled by the voice, and sees Lydia frowning at him, “So what?” she repeats, foot already tapping on the floor in impatience, “So what if he was Morgana, so what if he was a villain, haven’t we all been that at some point? I don’t care who Stiles was a thousand years ago, I care about who he is now, and right now he’s my friend, who thinks we all hate him.”

“I haven’t been around here for all that long,” Mason says, looking around nervously, “But even I know that Stiles would die for any of us in a heartbeat. I don’t care what he did, or who he was — I care who he is now, and right now, he’s the person I’d always want at my back.”

“He’s my best friend,” Scott states, as if that alone is more than enough to clear up whatever they could possibly want to do about him — and it is.

Because Merlin _understands_ that loyalty — he has nothing to fix here, not with them all.

Maybe there’s something to be fixed within _him_ , because _he_ is the only one who thought this might be a problem. When he had seen Stiles’s magic, when he had gone to Deaton to look for answers, when he had actually thought of hiding his talents from him again, this is where he had been wrong, these are his own mistakes.

Thinking Morgana would always be evil, thinking Mordred would always help her. This is not on them, this new court, this pack — this is on him. This is him making the _exact_ same mistakes from their first life together.

Maybe that’s why.

Maybe that is why they have been reborn like this, in a pack, all together already before he ever showed up — they couldn’t become a unit with him around, not when he doesn’t know how to trust, or, at least, not like they do.

They are already united. He is the one who needs to learn, he is the one who needs to understand trust, because as much as he had loved Arthur, as much as he had wanted to see him King, he had never trusted him — or anyone else, for that matter. Hiding Kilgharrah from Gaius, and hiding his motives from the dragon, hiding his own magic from everyone else. He doesn't know trust — but he does know love, and this, this right here, has him understanding that all these weeks running around with this pack of strange creatures is not about _him_ teaching _them_ anything: it’s about _them_ teaching _him_ how to trust, how to be a unity, how to be a pack.

 "We should go after him," he says then, his voice a bit rough with tears he doesn't want to let fall. When he looks up, he sees Scott shaking his head.

"No, let's give him some time to calm down. He's probably at Derek's right now, he's safe."

He wants to argue, and say they should solve this now, but he doesn't, because this is their friend, and they know him better.

He'll trust, as he hasn't before, because, apparently, this is why he's here, isn't it?

**X**

Thing is he's known who he is ever since he got back into town — he's known who he is ever since Merlin looked at him, and then noticed his sister first.

For a moment there he even considered telling them — and how they didn't realize who he had been when they did figure out Cora is a mystery to him — but he kept quiet, because of Stiles.

In his first life, so long ago, he made many mistakes, but the one he regretted the most was not having been able to help Morgana more.

She could have done it, she could have saved her, maybe, if she had been someone Morgana felt like she could talk to, trust in, since it was so clear that Merlin wouldn’t have anything to do with her. If anyone could be blamed for all their mistakes, it was Merlin, but even that he could let go of, because it was in his nature to forgive.

It had always been.

All those centuries ago, his priorities had changed as time went by, and Morgana found Morgause, but he hadn't lied to Stiles before: he had been his before being anyone else's. Guinevere had been Morgana's best friend before being Arthur's wife, or Merlin's friend, or a queen. And back then she hadn't seen how much her friend was suffering, what she was going through before it was too late, until there was no turning back, and, at the end, he knows they had become enemies, and he knows Morgana made many, many mistakes too, but not this time.

This time she wouldn't be alone, this time he wouldn't abandon Stiles, not for anything.

He will make sure Stiles has someone, even if it’s him alone, and he will make sure he’d be okay: _that_ is his priority, not bringing Arthur back.

Arthur, Derek knows, had figured out many lives earlier as a matter of fact, maybe even in his first one, is Merlin’s to be taken care of.

And, now he sees, Stiles is his.

So when he hears Stiles’s fast heartbeat coming up to his door, he opens it, and waits until he’s inside, and just allows him to crash on his couch, looking scared and weirded out. He takes a seat near his feet, and waits.

He’s good at waiting now.

“I’m in their boy band, Derek,” he starts after a couple of minutes in silence, turning his head to the side, and it’s such a familiar scene by now, such a _Stiles_ thing to do that Derek actually scoffs.

“I figured you would be. You know who you were?”

“I’m… I’m Morgana,” he says in a whisper, eyes staring into Derek’s as if afraid he’ll run away.

“You _were_ Morgana,” Derek corrects him, “You _are_ your own person now. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It kind of does, though,” Stiles pauses, looking away from Derek, as if ashamed he’ll see something terrible on his face, “I _really_ wanted to strangle Merlin. Like, for real. I’ve hated people before, and I’ve always been a bit… belligerent,” he says the word carefully, making Derek snort, but he keeps on going, ignoring the understatement, “But this… I… I remember him killing me. I remember the sword going through my heart.” He swallows dryly at that, closing his eyes tight, “I remember wishing I had killed him before he could kill me.”

Derek doesn’t say anything at that — Stiles doesn’t need palliatives and niceties, he needs to talk this through, that’s all. He’ll find himself at the end of it, Derek is absolutely sure.

“He took everything from me. He hid my magic from me, made me think I was crazy. He stole Arthur from me, and Gwen, and everyone else.” Stiles stops talking and opens his eyes again, brown swimming in tears, staring at Derek in such a lost and raw manner the man wants to hold him tight to try and keep his pieces together, so he won’t fall apart, “I was so _alone,”_ he whispers, voice broken and afraid, “There was no one left, in the end. Even Morgause left her… left me.”

He frowns, suddenly, turning around so he’s lying on his back, legs bending at the knees, facing Derek properly now that he isn’t trying to become one with the couch.

“Who do you think she was? Or maybe she’ll still come? When she showed up, it was then that it all started really falling apart — I had no one and she offered help, and what if they all leave me, and then she shows up again, and I go crazy, and we all die?” he says it all in a rush, panic growing behind his eyes, but Derek snorts and puts a hand on one of Stiles’s ankles, squeezing it once before just leaving his hand there, because he can — because maybe this small gesture will show him he _isn’t_ alone.

“From what you all told me, I think she was Theo.”

Stiles frowns at that, but allows the through to distract him from his own fears for a while, and for that, Derek is grateful.

“Really?”

“He did try to steal you from Scott — you and Liam. He tried to make up a new pack, and become an Alpha. You were the first one he went after, because he knew you were important.”

“Yeah…” Stiles says slowly, as if filtering through what Derek had said, and then nodding slowly, “It does make sense.”

“It does. And you know what else makes sense?”

Stiles shakes his head, staring at Derek as if begging for an answer that will ease his terror.

“You turned him away,” he says simply and Stiles’s eyes widen a bit, his heart calming down just the slightest bit, “You didn’t fall for his tricks, for his empty promises of companionship, because even when Scott didn’t believe in you, you still believed in your pack, in your friends. You saved Lydia, you stood behind Scott, you helped save Mason, you never gave up on Parrish, you protected your dad every time you possibly could,” he pauses, squeezes Stiles’s ankle again, “You helped me, every time I needed, even when I didn’t call for help,” he turns then, facing Stiles on the couch, his hands on Stiles’s knees, “You _were_ Morgana,” he tells the boy slowly, eyes never leaving his, willing him to _understand_ this, this crucial difference from who they had been, and who they are now, “But you _are_ Stiles now, and you won’t make the same mistakes, because you’ve learned. I think that is the whole point of this whole thing — to learn. If Arthur’s court were ready the first time, it wouldn’t have to be reborn for over a thousand years, dozens of times, to be united again. You are exactly what you need to be, you’re _Stiles_ , it doesn’t matter who you were before.”

He doesn’t know if Stiles _understand_ this yet, though, because that’s the moment when Merlin and Scott and everyone else, even Stiles’s dad, bursts through the door, and Derek closes his eyes in exasperation.

Basic notions of personal privacy is something none of them has learned, apparently, even a thousand years later.

**X**

Stiles looks like a trapped animal as everyone comes in and sit on the floor, or on the chairs with their backs to the window, forming a loose circle around the two of them still on the couch, even if now both of them are sitting up.

Derek wants to laugh — he and Merlin would never have been allowed to actually sit with the others in their time. Uther would never have allowed the circle, to start with. Progress is a wonderful thing.

“Son,” John is the first one to start talking, and Stiles looks reluctant to raise his eyes and look back at his father, but he does it eventually, “I’m so sorry.”

The man sounds broken, and Derek thinks he gets it — the two of them have been through so much, but they have made it through, they are fine now, they are… content, if not happy all the time. They know each other, and they forgive each other their mistakes, and now there’s one more obstacle they have to conquer. Nevertheless, if there are two people who _can_ make this work, it’s them, because their whole lives have been a constant battle to be the best they can be for each other — even when they lie.

“Why are you apologizing?” Stiles sounds confused and a bit angry, all at once, “I ruined your life, like, a hundred times, and now you’re apologizing, _why_ are you apologizing?”

“Stiles,” Scott starts, but Stiles just shakes his head and stands up, removing himself from their circle, and pacing behind the couch, as if the piece of furniture is a safeguard against all of them.

“No! The guy I brought back to life just to screw with people’s heads doesn’t get to try and be reasonable right now. Don’t you see? Don’t you see how many times I screwed you guys over, how many times I’ve hurt you? Isn’t that _why_ I’ve come back, so you can defeat _me_ before I get Arthur killed again, or fuck up Liam’s life, or get my dad killed?”

“That is not how this works, Stiles!” Merlin exclaims, his eyes welling up in tears, his voice desperate and sad, “I’ve wronged _you_ , _this_ is why we keep trying but didn’t manage to make things right again! _I’m_ the one at fault here, I’m the one to blame! You’re not the enemy, you’re the wronged part in this!”

“How can you say that? Don’t get me wrong, I still want to twist your neck every time I look at you, but I’m… I’m evil,” Stiles says, and then Derek can’t take it anymore.

“That’s enough!” he yells, a little bit of his old Alpha ways coming to him, “Stop, both of you, with your pity party, and your ‘this is my fault’ crap! Past lives are called that way because that’s _all_ they are: past. It doesn’t matter anymore, at least not now — we all made mistakes, some in this life, some in others, but the whole point of all of us being here right now is so that we can finally _get it right_. So the two of you get your shit together, and stop blaming yourselves and each other for things that are no one’s fault, so that we can actually understand _how_ we’re going to bring Arthur back, since, apparently, that is why we were born a hundred times again!” he finishes angrily, and sees Stiles is staring at him strangely — and so is the rest of the pack, because they _don’t know_.

“… and that would be Gwen,” Merlin says quietly, and oh well.

Now they do.

**X**

“Did you lie to me?” Is the first question out of Stiles’s mouth once everyone has calmed down enough, and they’ve moved their whole argument to how the hell they’ll bring their King back — still sitting in a circle, still being a cliché, but oh well, there are worst fates in life.

“When?” he asks, confusedly, still going through his cupboards trying to find something that could feed a whole pack (or a whole court).

“When you said I was yours first. That you were mine first.”

He gives up his search, deciding to just order something, and glances quickly at the others, who are all pretending they aren’t trying to listen in from the living room into the kitchen.

“I didn’t.”

“Derek, if you were…”

“I was your best friend for years, before Merlin even showed up in our lives,” he says, turning around and leaning against the counter, facing Stiles, who’s standing defensively in front of the fridge, “I was your confidant before Arthur even knew I existed. You cared about me before Merlin set foot in Camelot, you trusted in me before Arthur ever talked to me. You were mine first, just like I was yours,” he pauses and sighs, running a hand over his face, because he isn’t overly fond of these discussions — not in this life, anyway, “Even here, even now — you stood up for me before anyone else. You accepted me as a part of your pack before even Scott did, which just goes to show how much we have actually changed.”

Stiles smirks at that, small and a bit unsure, but still a smirk.

“Ha, you were Scott’s love interest, I bet his password was Derek,” he chuckles quietly, and Derek rolls his eyes, “Are you going to get together with Arthur again when we bring him back?” he teases, but Derek hears the slight raise in his heartbeat, the almost imperceptible tremble in his voice.

“No. I think Merlin has that covered,” he says with a quiet laugh.

“That’s the only reason?” Stiles asks again, and Derek sighs, because they _are_ doing this, aren’t they?

“No,” he says, and reaches a hand out to Stiles, grabbing him and bringing him closer, steadying him with a hand on his back when he stumbles onto Derek, their bodies close together, touching from thigh to chest, his face impossibly close, seeing his eyes sparkling with hope and happiness, and a smile comes to his lips when Stiles relaxes against him, “It’s because you were mine first,” he says quietly, and kisses him.

It’s as simple as that, as easy as if they’ve been doing this all their lives, and not like it has taken them over a thousand years and dozens of lives to get this right: they kiss.

There’s a small sigh coming from one of them, and arms going around each other, holding on tight, never wanting to let it go. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, because all of their friends are watching, and they are so afraid this will break into a thousand pieces, but it’s so full of promise and hope — that this time, this _one time_ , they will get it right, all of it.

When they break apart, small, secret smiles on their lips, they know they will, because this time, _this one time_ , they are together, and they have each other, and they have no intention of ever letting the other go.

“IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL HAVE YOU HANGED, HALE!” comes the shout from the living room.

“Oh my god, dad, STOP!” Stiles shouts back.

“Does this mean Stiles is, like, my almost-mom now?” Liam asks quietly, and Derek rests his head against Stiles’s shoulder and laughs and laughs.

He has a feeling this time, _this one time_ , things will be just fine.

**X**

“So… this is it. This is how we bring _our King_ back,” Stiles says, voice a tiny bit mocking, because he apparently can’t help but be a jerk.

They are all in front of the lake where Arthur had gone into, ready to try and bring him back.

Merlin knows it won’t be easy. He knows all of these people around him think this is the end of their journey, but he _knows_ it’s just the beginning — however, he doesn’t feel afraid, he doesn’t doubt they can do it.

Because now, now they are _all here_ : Leon and Mason, Stiles and Morgana, Derek and Gwen, Scott and Lancelot, Lydia and Gwaine, Parrish and Percival, the Sheriff and Uther, Liam and Mordred, Deaton and Gaius, Cora and Elyan — all of them united, together, to bring their promised Kingdom to life.

This time, Merlin knows, it will work, because this time is not about a war to be fought, or fears to be conquered, or dragons to be tamed: this time is about them being together and doing their very best.

Looking at all of them, hopeful and confident, the light from their spell shining over their heads, he knows this time they’ll get it done. Albion will come, because this time there’s no hatred, no bigotry, no fear.

There’s only love.

And that is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this is it -- hope you liked it!  
> Now I'm going back to a galaxy far away to finish the longest thing I've ever written.  
> Thanks for reading it!  
> [Come tell me what you think of it.](http://darkjan.tumblr.com/)


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